Varela: The culture of words makes their meanings come alive

Without the barrier of language, context would still be lost

By Ashley Varela

Updated 5:15 pm, Friday, August 15, 2014

"Good morning! So good to see you again!" I say more loudly than necessary, smiling.

After too many seconds of silence, it is clear my new Burmese acquaintance has no idea what I said, but she understood the smile. She smiles back, eyes wide, practically searching mine for meaning. If only all communication could be as universal as a smile. Patience, I tell myself.

"How are you?" I try again, this time in a normal volume. Her smile endures. "Me? Good!" We both laugh, yet knowing how far away this refugee woman is from home, I wonder what's behind her laugh. I long to know her story and begin pining for a world without the barriers of language.

We could converse and travel without hindrance. Read all the books in the world's library. Listen to every song ever written and actually sing along.

Hello! What is it like to live in Burma?

On second thought, would we all say "hello?" Perhaps we would agree on the peace and grace extended through "shalom," or would we choose "namaste," recognizing good and light in one another.

Does the power lie in the convenience of one word or the choice of many?

If we all spoke the same language, there would be no language barrier, but a barrier in something else.

"I love you" would just be "I love you," without the choice of "Te quiero" or "Te amo." We would have no distinction between the agápe, phília and éros loves in the Greek language.

There would be layers of meaning lost. Words left unchallenged. Maybe even entire concepts and ideas left undeveloped, or worse, undiscovered.

The Danish word hygge (HYOO-guh), for one, has no place in my own native tongue, nor a direct translation. But its idea, one wrapped up in the coziness of sharing warmth and proximity with others, resonates with me still.

In Denmark, a friend explains, it's typically any refuge from the treacherous winter - anything from fishermen huddled around a campfire to friends reuniting for coffee and cake to being blissfully bundled in bed.

Surely we could have hygge in Houston, could we not? For we, too, need an escape from our "treacherous" days in December.

It's more than that, my friend corrects. You don't necessarily need snow to enjoy hygge, just the essence of an escape.

So our Houston hygge would include sipping frozen mojitos in a climate-controlled café, I joke. But somehow, I feel I'm straying from the true meaning.

I suppose it is the context, the culture of words that makes their meaning come alive. With one language, there's just one context, one culture, one understanding.

How devastating to live in a world stripped of the would-be epiphanies of knowing someone else's recipe of life.

Coffee would simply be "coffee," with no unique platform for Spain's cortado, France's café au lait, Vietnam's ca phe da, or Cuba's own version of espresso

We would miss the lesson behind the Japanese characters tomodachi, which illustrate the left and right hand working as one toward a common goal. The definition? According to wordreference.com it's: friend, comrades in a united pursuit, an idea highlighting the value the Japanese place on coworkers.

If we all spoke the same language, would there be less lost in translation, or more?

Would ease in conversation be worth the extinction of the stunning idiosyncrasies each culture holds in expressing itself? Hardly.

So thank you, Tower of Babel, for your failure, which charges us to surmount the boundaries of culture that otherwise conceal the treasure of human connection.

As my Burmese friend keeps smiling, I point to the map on the wall. "Burma," I begin, "Is it cold?" I cross my arms, rubbing my shoulders. "Or hot?" I fan myself with my hand.

The shape of her eye brows reveal she is questioning my mental stability. "Uh…" she tries to follow. I redo my charade. "Oh!" she replies, and without a word she makes her fingers trickle like rain drops.

"Rain!" I exclaim, and this time, my heart smiles.

Varela, a Teach for America alumna, is an ESL teacher in the Houston Independent School District.